My grannio - poetry
I never accepted wisdom I would have to say GOODBYE to my best friend? But that's what I had to do today I had to let go of her ceaselessly -
There was no other way For me to face certainty Or pretend to be okay I had no conception -
Of how hard it would be To essentially let go Of this huge part of me? Not tomorrow or ever -
Will my life be the same Exclusive of my Grannio here Life seems to be a game - Of accidental and questions?
Questions that never end And have no answers That can begin to mend The huge hole classified of me
Nor come close to curative My heart and soul that Seem to be affection Lost, numb and empty-
Completely hollow? Like I have minion left To especially abide by - All the way through life with respect
She was so much more Than my Grandmother I knew that ahead of She left this earth
And I told her so More than once or twice Since she had to know Just how very exclusive -
And truly blessed I felt to have her as my acquaintance She was the best Lacking a doubt -
My Grannio gave me More than everybody Will ever exceedingly see? It was an silent -
Kind of love That came with no situation And went far above The customary caring
And be in the region of aid For a grandchild - Or category of any sort She gave more of herself
To me than a person In my life ever will No one could have done What she did for me
With so much devotion, Definite honesty And true emotion? Her allegiance was -
Sincerely endless I accomplish so much Now that I'm crying - And wishing that
I had just one more day To spend asset her hand And annoying to take away Her fears and her pain -
That took over her Body and her mind Like never before? In our lives -
I would have genuinely Given 20 years of my life To have her simply Be here tomorrow -
I cannot account for The way I feel today Or how much I pain Is contained by of me -
That will never go away No be relevant how much time passes I know this ache will stay With me forever?
Just as her elite touch Will continually be with me And mean so very much - To me and my son?
Jakob Thomas Her "BabyDoll" And I assurance To never not recall -
What she would have done If she was still here For him - her only one Great-grandchild?
Resource Box - © Danielle Hollister (2004) is the Publisher of BellaOnline Quotations Zine - A free newsletter for quote lovers featuring more than 10,000 quotations in dozens of categories like - love, friendship, children, inspiration, success, wisdom, family, life, and many more. Read it online at - http://www. bellaonline. com/articles/art8364. asp
An Old Wood Pile [a poem with notes]
Old skin, once held tight Against her skeleton- Rose no more, just draped Loosely over unpadded flesh; Un-tightened muscles, and tissue, Lost its courage, no-fortitude-, Gone are the days and years That stood anti the Indomitable elements; The skeleton, now a landmark Hidden under flesh and blood Guts and moral fiber, backbone? Collapsed from drudgery Time, time: cascading inside-. Bones now departure impressions Accepting fate Like flawed silver!.
Two Poems: Black Poncho, and Spirits of de Copan [in English and Spanish]
English Version12) Black Poncho(of Saint Cosme Hill, by Lima, Peru)Lost in the grottos of Peru- By the hills of Huancayo Black Cloak was given A treasure of gold?; By none other than, Demonic goblins!?in the form of blistering fruit; Hence, Black Cape fooled The goblins of oldBy using his wrap to pull The boiling blonde fruit Through the Andes to Lima, Peru!?Henceforward, he was swindled By a jeweler of dire repute. Thus, his life misused (as so often they do); And now he lives with: Thirty-five dogs, on San Cosme Hill.
Biography of Charlotte Bronte
Charlotte Bronte (1816 -1855) Author and Poet.Charlotte was the daughter of the Rev.
It's dark, it's cold, its' just six thirty,thoughts of sleep still dull my brain,As I cluster down, contained by my coat,a person along for the ride clone, just behind you for a train.Insidious rain, just drizzly down,through weak light of creeping dawn,Paper sandwich bags and old brunette cups,blowing past, look so forlorn.
Man Unbowed [A poem]
Man UnbowedUnbowed by sin, the world of man, stands Upon his feet he gapes into the sky, The coldness of centuries contained by his eyes, And in his heart the curse of the old world. Who made him dead to love and God? A thing that breathes only for wants and needs, With a lack of emotion, a brother to the fox? Who tightened and pressed up his sharp brow? (To make him look so grand, so proud-so tall.
You cannot make a big name love you. All you can do is be a big name who can be loved.
Four Poems: Grendels Nature...the Racetrack...Counting days...[Now in English and Spanish]
English Version1) Grendel's DivorceYou must know that I do not hateAnd that I hate you, Because the lot dead has twoSides; A sound is one arm of the quiet, Ice has its warm half.I hate you in order to start hating you To begin life again And never to stop hating you: That is why I do not hate you yet.
Three Poems: The Monkey Man of Lima, Plus Two More
What Hides at the back of the Minute?What hides at the back the minute? It seems, no one exceedingly knows; How many times will we wakeup, To count the log gone?The rose was dead when I arrived; The sword, was rusty and dull; The display curtain was open, And there was music in the hall.Oh lovely minute, where art thou? One, is not like the other-: Whirling in an material orbit, As the endless world discovers.
Ambiguity and Abstraction in Bob Dylan's Lyrics
To many colonize contemporary poetry is a turn-off. The analyze for this is that the best part of these poems are boring.
Why I enjoy Writing?
During interviews and broad-spectrum conversations with the public,one of the most challenging questions for me to answer(timely and thoroughly) is,"Why do you enjoy writing"?So due to the challenge manifested in such a question,I pondered on creating an answer. Many reasons came to mind,but after digesting much"time for thought",I managed to condense my rejoinder to three items.
Poetry "Reborn" Emerges In Crime novel Mystery Novel
Since Mohamed Ali-then Cassius Clay-announced that he had on paper "The world's direct poem," I have known that I would be a poet. "ME? WHEE!" His dominant announcement evoking shivers surrounded by my concerned teenaged identity, for I reasoned in rhyme.
A Dose of Laughter
I'm not well. Can't you tell? Kinda low, so, give me a dose of laughter.
Antidotes for an Alibi
Amy King's first full-length collection, Antidotes for an Alibi, insists that we analyze the not to be trusted clarity of our events and the goals that motivate us. How does one in reality get from "A" to "B"-and is there ever actually a "B"? What color is the white space connecting "A" and "B"? Upon faster inspection, become known realities bring to light themselves to be spongy and fragile, encrusted with textures and grains that lead the eye on not to be trusted pathways.
Famous Poets Quotations - Top 30 Poetry Quotations by Celebrated Poets
"For this aim poetry is a little more philosophical and more commendable of critical awareness than history."-- Aristotle"Every American poet feels that the whole blame for contemporary poetry has fallen upon his shoulders, that he is a literary lords and ladies of one.
Three Poems: Ghost of the Rocks; Lady from Lima & Bell Ringer of de Copan
Phantom of the Rocks[Huancayo, Peru]Night falls deepUpon the traveler!Low, over the AndesBy Huancayo-;They know a legend,Not of this earth,Where evil lurks(Over Palla-Huarcuan!..
Three Sweet Poems, and Two Not So Sweet [now in: SPANISH and English]
1) End PoemWherever you are today- Is where you were meant to be; It's where God, dotted the 'i' and the 't'?!2) God's AngelsGod asked his angels: "Why do you look so sad?" Responded one angel: "Sir, we can't find the shade."3) An Empty SpaceOut of wisdom one will wait, travel far for love; the thirst will not kill them.
San Francisco [Almost a Sonnet]
(The city by the bay of Northern California, near which the Comforting Ocean resides; the year is 1967)Mid October seemed like some bounce day,When all the way through the controlled waters, dry as lead, The ferry, like vague dark that stand the dead,Slipped down the coiled coast of Frisco bay, Rounded the Blonde Gate,-and San Francisco lay, Before me, that gay city, pink and red, Hippies roofed Haigh Asbury's itinerant head,-My home, to be, I found stirring and grey.The waves broken on the wooden-sides; fishermenNearby with long necks, looked and cast again.
AFRICA (to africans in diaspora)africa here i come, africa africa of the black soul the soul of an antediluvian civilization the civilization of your timid tribes.its your voice i hear africa your voice of the discussion drums your beaded drums and the royal trumpeter the metal gong of your town crieri have come to see your music dance i have heard of your perpetual minstrels have i not heard of your fluctuation hips! i have heard an adequate amount of and have come to watch wouldn't you dance for me africaafrica here i come africa would you not show me to your tribes the timid tribes of your sugared tongues the assorted tongues of your good menafrica, black soul africa tell me about your gods your gods of the sky and of the nurse earth your gods of the hills and of the rivers aboundshow me to your kings africa your kings of the antediluvian dynasty the antique era of rusted spear and shield africa, here i come africaHEAVENLY GUESTheavenly guest heralding thunderously in its own awake pelting on men as well, the gods gathering itself drop by drop.
Tsunami -a Poem Enthusiastic To Help Aid and Awareness and Egg on Hope Harmony. Make Peace Not War
Real Power.One Tsunami, and all our armies, Seem belittled by their wars, What Animals fled, and tribesmen read, Finally Arrives with crushing roar, Wholesale slaughter, decently by water, Makes us seem an irrelevance, Concepts of power, adjust by the hour, Faced with ancient elements.
Sleep, Dreams, and a Poem
The Incubus' Flash-lightHe looked confidential my head And found a dreamHe didn't like-;As I looked back at him, I found an incubus Shinning a light(and stole this poem from him-last night).Thoughts: Dreams and Poetry: in dreams we let go of our inhibitions; in poetry we write them back out.
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